


Come Back, Dead or Alive

by Lalaith_Yamainu



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Family, Gen, Grief, I can't help it, Sibling Relationship, a little bit of Jon/Sansa snuck in at the end, brother sister dynamics, ignore it if you want, now with Jon's pov, saying goodbye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 16:44:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11604705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaith_Yamainu/pseuds/Lalaith_Yamainu
Summary: Starks who go South die, and Sansa isn't ready to lose the last member of her family so soon after finding him.





	1. Chapter 1

Every Stark who went South has died. Beheaded, burned, torn apart. Violent deaths for noble men and women. 

Except Sansa. 

Perhaps Arya is alive. Sansa didn't let herself hope. After all, even Jon had died, and he had gone North. Which is perhaps why the death hadn't been permanent. The North loved the Starks. Winter was in their blood, their bones. Winter was clean and pure. She saw that now. The hot, muggy South brought only corruption and disease, of both the body and the soul. 

And that's where Jon was going. 

Stern, honorable Jon, more honorable than Robb had been, the most like Father of all of them. He was going South to negotiate with a dragon queen when he was still so naive about court and politics. She almost wishes she could go with him. 

Almost. 

She stands at his door, watching him pack, and wonders if this will be the last time she sees him, if she will truly be the last of the Starks. 

He glances up, and sighs. "It must be done, Sansa."

She doesn't reply. There's nothing to be said. They had argued for days, and she hadn't been able to change his mind. 

Setting his bag to the side, he walks to her and embraces her. She allows herself to cling to him for just a moment, burying her face in his furs. 

"I'll come back. I promise." He murmurs into her hair, and she shakes her head at him. She wonders if he truly remains so optimistic, or if he simply is protecting her from reality. 

He needn't. Sansa and reality are well aquatinted. 

"Don't trust Tyrion. Not entirely. He may be better than the rest, but he is still a Lannister. He'll use you to get what he wants, even if he has to convince himself it's for your own good." Jon's eyes are sad, as she rattles off any advice she can give him. "Show deference to the Dragon queen, but don't bend the knee. Focus on the White Walkers, on Cersei, on your common enemies. Don't get drawn into discussing what may happen after they've been defeated. Bring Samwell's letters, and keep Davos with you, he's good at reading people..."

Her eyes burn, but she wills the tears back, refuses to let them fall. "They already have the upper hand. Don't give hem anything more." He grabs her cheeks and presses a kiss to her forehead, rougher than the gentle affection he's shown her since they were reunited. Her ghost tightens as he looks her in the eyes. 

"Winter is here. I don't know if we'll survive it. We may starve, we may be killed by White Walkers, we may be murdered by our own bannermen, but Sansa, I promise you: I will come back to Winterfell, and we will face it together."

She closes her eyes and murmurs, "When the white winds blow the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

He nudges her chin. "We both managed to survive plenty of white winds alone. But not anymore. We're together now. And maybe Arya and Bran..." his voice trails off, but she understands. Hope is painful, but it can't be killed easily. 

"That's why I need you here. You know people, you know these men, you grew up with them, same as me. If I'm leaving my home, it's because I know you'll keep it safe when I'm gone."

"Come back to me", she whispers, hating herself for the weakness in her voice. "I don't care if that woman has to bring you back to life again, you come back to me. "

They stand for a few moments more, before she draws away, leaving to meet with the steward. 

Later, she tries to smile at Jon as he leaves, but doesn't know if she succeeds. And then he's gone, and she's alone again, a lone wolf guarding the den. She meets Littleginger's eyes and thinks that these winds are very dangerous indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

Jon isn't afraid to go South. He thinks the Red Priestess's fire had burned the fear out oh him. He hand been afraid since he came back.

Just angry. 

Angry at his brothers, angry at Sansa, angry at the Boltons, angry at his bannermen, Littlefinger, Cersei...

Sometimes he wonders if there is anything left inside him, but rage. 

The few moments when he's felt anything else have been with Sansa. Regret. Sorrow. Pity. Protectiveness. Love. Compassion. The last of his humanity, wrapped up in a girl (woman?) with a face from his childhood, with Father's words on his lips, with holes in her heart that match his. Holes shaped like Arya, Robb, Bran, Rickon.

Holes shaped like innocence. Like loyalty. Like dreams crushed to the ground. 

Sansa had gone South, he had gone North, but both had left a home they loved to follow a dream. A dream that turned out to be a hell hole full of traitors, rapists, barbarians, and cowards. Both King's Landing and the Night's Watch had been far, far from the stories they had held in their hearts. 

So no, Jon isn't afraid. Death doesn't scare him anymore - in fact a large part of him longs for it, longs for the peace and the quiet and the hope of seeing his family again. But there is Sansa to consider, and so he will avoid it if he can. Because she has suffered enough. It breaks his heart, to think of the wide eyed, giddy girl he had last seen leaving with the Royal Family, so full of hopes and dreams. 

Life has changed them, but she is still his sister, still his to protect, no matter how much she denies it (and oh how that hurts, to think she no longer can count on even her own flesh and blood for safety. Father must be rolling in his grave to have his sweet daughter so jaded).

He wishes he could take her far away, where no one could ever hurt them again. Away from traitorous banner men, and the rising dead, and Littlefingers eyes on her face and whispers in her ear. Where he could wrap her up and protect her, the way child-Sansa would have wanted to be protected. 

But she is not a child anymore, and she has steel in her spine and her eyes every time she reminds them of who they are. They are Starks, and so duty is bred in their bones, and they have a responsibility to their land and their people. He hears Father's words in her voice, see's it in her eyes, and Jon may be a Snow, but he has sStark blood all the same, and when his family calls for him, he cannot refuse. 

But he won't do it her way. He can't. He's been stabbed in the back already, and it makes him hate politics and treason and shifting alliances even more than he had before. But they need men, and fire, and dragonglass if they are to survive the winter. 

It must be done, so he will go. 

He is not afraid of dying, but he would regret failing his people, abandoning Sansa, and losing his home to death. So he will do everything he can to come back. 

And Sansa. Sweet Sansa with fire in her eyes and hair, who walked through their ruined home with confidence and ownership, who trusted no one but him and longed for revenge on those who had destroyed them, who kept Littlefinger around because he was useful, but saw through his lies...

Sansa would keep his home safe while he was gone. He knew it, because as much as they argued, they were united in some things, and their love for their home was one of them. 

He sees her standing above him, and takes a moment to memorize her face. 

If Jon could be afraid, if it was still possible to feel fear, it would be for her, of leaving her alone with her demons.

But, he reminds himself as he turns to leave, the fear has burned out of him. And he cannot be afraid.

He cannot, so he won't.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something after 7x02, because I wanted more of a goodbye.


End file.
